Lighthouse

There never was a formal exchange.
No passing of a baton.
No palming of the keys.

One day I chose to leave that warm and cosy room.
And ventured up the winding stairs,
Ascending, clockwise. As time itself marched on.

Until I could walk no higher.
The door which blocked my path revealed
Gears and cogs of clockwork.
A daunting apparatus. Waiting for me.

And that oil lamp, which took me years
To find the strength to light.
Far brighter – and hotter –
Than the candles with which I had grown up.

Then I couldn’t help but hear them calling out.
The foghorns of the ships out
At sea. Thrashed by the waves.
But perhaps a part of them
Relishing the excitement.

But there are other lights
In the far-off distance.
Other bays and other coves.
I wouldn’t blame those ships
For seeking solace
And comfort
Elsewhere.

I know this bay
Better than any man alive.
I know its its chilling winds, jagged black rocks
And its treacherous riptides.
Any of which could spell the end
For those ships.

Already I can see the damage
I have caused. It’s Marley’s ghost.
Coming to shore, every night without fail
At high tide. The flotsam
And the jetsam.
Reminding me of the perils that wait
In my dark waters.

Again I ask myself
Whether I should leave
This windswept, Godforsaken tower.
Leave it for good.

Allow the flame to die.
Let it fall into disrepair
And someday crumble.
Well after I’m long gone.

But it’s my duty.
And although I don’t believe in destiny
I can never refuse this call.
No matter if I resist.

For I have never owned this light. And I never will.
No one ever has.
I am merely the keeper
Of this lighthouse. The latest in a long line,
But hopefully
Not the last.

I must shine on
In spite of every crash.
And I must hope that those words
On the brass light ring true:

“There’s a bay for every ship.
And a ship for every bay.”